


Of Politics and Love

by vassalady



Category: Parasol Protectorate - Gail Carriger
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:12:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8885209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vassalady/pseuds/vassalady
Summary: Professor Randolph Lyall joins his Alpha in an assignment from the Dewan amid ruminations of the past.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [galaxysoup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxysoup/gifts).



Randolph Lyall was loathe to admit it, but he was a bit of a romantic. It was what (in part at least) had got him entangled with werewolves in the first place.

The persecution of the supernatural set was teetering on the edge when Randolph found himself in the employ of a werewolf. He was a loner, although Randolph knew little of that at the time, and he could not afford the visibility that the nearby Boleyn Pack enjoyed. Not that Randolph minded. He needed a sponsor, and Hubert Nottington was willing to take on this young tumbler who had grand dreams of academia, even though Randolph was Welsh of all things.

At the time, Randolph was as unforgivably Welsh as Lord Maccon was often unforgivably Scottish a few centuries later. That was the first thing that Nottington taught him: how to be English.

And when Randolph found out that Nottington was not simply some eccentric, but a genuine werewolf, well, Randolph was quite done for.

The things Nottington had seen. The things he would see (although he would not survive far past Elizabeth I’s reign). Randolph wanted that. He wanted that and more. Nottington was not an attractive man, but as a wolf, he was gorgeous. Fur that shone in the moonlight, a shapely muzzle, eyes that pierced Randolph to his core.

Yes. This was what he wanted. And though Nottington himself could not change Randolph, he arranged it with the nearest pack, and Randolph stepped from one life into the next.

Despite everything that he would later experience, Randolph never regretted that decision for a moment.

\--

When Randolph revealed this to Biffy (though not in full detail because one was allowed to keep some secrets from his lover and alpha), Biffy replied, “You’re a martyr.”

“No,” Randolph said after careful consideration. “Why would you say that?”

Biffy snorted. It was an inelegant snort, but he had grown a bit rougher in the past few decades. Ever since the Blitz and going over to fight the Germans, Biffy had been just a little more wolf-like than he would care to admit.

Randolph found it endearing.

Instead of answering his question, Biffy entwined his fingers together with Randlph’s. Tomorrow night, Biffy would start his monthly confinement, even if it were still a day before the full moon, so they planned to enjoy tonight together.

Still just a little too young for full control. But he would be there soon enough. Randolph believed in him.

Randolph did not give his belief freely. It was hard won, and despite his romanticism, he was far too shrewd to run on emotion alone.

\--

As hard as it was to remember, there was a time before Vulkasin Woolsey descended into villainy. He was not Randolph’s first Alpha, nor even his second. But he had never been a kind man, even in the days before.

He was second only to Lord Slaughter, who gained his position, following the demise of the previous Dewan, by grace of His Majesty King George IV. 

At best, Woolsey was pragmatic. That Randolph could appreciate. That was one reason he’d been drawn to Woolsey Pack in the first place.

At worst… Well, Randolph didn’t like dwelling on that.

The fact was Woolsey had so betrayed the pack. He had betrayed Randolph. An Alpha was to lead, to guide, to provide safety and sanctuary and order.

As the years passed, none of this was to be found.

But then there was Alessandro. 

It was true that Alessandro took more than he gave. He went in and out of Randolph’s life at his own whim.

Yet he was a lifeline for Randolph during those years.

“Have you ever considered becoming a loner?” Alessandro asked on night, sounding incredibly disinterested, as if he were discussing the weather.

“Never,” Randolph said without hesitation. The life wasn’t for him. He was best as support. As he was with Alessandro.

He needed people to rely on him. He needed to be of use.

And loners had too short lifespans. Randolph had sought immortality for a reason.

\--

Randolph wasn’t sure he approved of “rock” music. Biffy, on the other hand, seemed to live for it. He always had a new record on, and Randolph was willing to indulge his lover and Alpha.

On the one hand, it did often get Biffy to pull Randolph in for a dance, and while the dancing itself may not appeal, moving with Biffy certainly was.

Tonight however, they were interrupted by Roger, one of their clavigers. Randolph didn’t think Roger would try for metamorphosis; he was too invested with the little band he was starting up. 

Roger peaked in and said, “Dewan’s asking for you to visit him, sir. Professor, you, too.”

“Thank you, Roger,” Randolph said, even as Biffy sighed and reluctantly turned off the player.

They took their personal car, and during the short drive, Randolph did his best to make it up to Biffy.

They met the Dewan in his private residence. It was merely a flat despite taking up the whole floor, and he only had a single claviger. There was that familiar unease that ran through Randolph when entering another’s territory.

Lord Crow greeted them with a bright smile and a nod. Randolph showed neck; Biffy returned the nod. Unlike Lord Slaughter, Lord Crow looked deceptively young, even to Randolph.

“Thank you for coming,” Lord Crow said, “Gentlemen, I have a request to make of you.”

Randolph privately braced himself. In his experience, requests were often suspect.

\--

Alessandro asked the Randolph give him a few days privacy. He wasn’t leaving London; he merely needed a few days to himself.

“I will see you after the full moon,” he said.

Randolph knew he would have to accept that.

When the moon madness receded, however, Randolph found Alessandro dead.

The clag\vigers couldn’t have stopped it. Alessandro had demanded it. Woolsey had finished it.

Not even a Templar-trained preternatural Sundowner could deal with a moon mad alpha werewolf.

A few days, Alessandro had said. A few days to plan and execute this horrid suicide mission. Randolph regretted his complacency. He should have insisted on Alessandro’s time, learned what he was up to, stopped him, anything.

But Randolph could never have. It was not his place nor his right to impede on Alessandro’s comings and goings. He was not a man to be questioned. Perhaps that was something that drew Randolph to him, some instinctual Beta feeling. Or maybe it was simply that, as cold as he could be, Alessandro was a dangerous attraction.

Either way, none of it mattered now. Alessandro was dead. Randolph could no longer live under Woolsey’s madness. 

Randolph had no desire to be Alpha himself, so whether he could beat Woolsey was not a prospect worth considering.

No, he needed someone from the outside. He needed a strong Alpha to take over.

Randolph knew just who he wanted.

\--

Lord Crow’s request was very unusual in that he asked both Alpha and Beta to journey to the capital of the United States.

Some time after the turn of the century, slow acceptance of the supernatural set began in America, although it was still an ongoing process. One of many, Randolph knew. There, they were to meet with the man who was rumored to be President Kennedy’s advisor on all things supernatural.

“You’ll be on official British business, representative of our government, of course,” the Dewan said.

Biffy inclined his head in affirmation even as he asked, “To what purpose is this?”

Randolph had questions of his own, but he could wait until Biffy’s were satisfied.

“Officially, an act of international good will.”

“And unofficially, sir?”

There was a reason they were meeting in Lord Crow’s personal lodgings rather than at Parliament.

Lord Crow smiled that brilliant white smile of his. His appointment had been controversial, but Lord SLaughter had recommended him highly for his replacement. Randolph, personally, thought he possessed a shrewd and quick mind and was the best loner for the position.

“Of course, Lord Woolsey, there is always an unofficial reason.”

Back room dealings and plots were very familiar territory to Randolph.

\--

The idea had to be planted in the Kingair Pack’s minds. It had to be done without the knowledge of Lord Maccon. It took months of whispers, rumors, and spies.

It also was a calculated risk. Would Lord Maccon forsake his pack? Would he challenge Vulkasin Woolsey? Of that second point, should Lord Maccon achieve the first, Randolph was fairly sure. Lord Maccon was pure alpha - he could never be a loner. But he was also fair. He would not choose a healthy, strong pack. No, he would choose a pack that suffered at the hands of its Alpha.

The other risk was that the Kingair Pack would successfully assassinate the queen. This Randolph had to prevent at any cost.

What disturbed him most, however, was how much he enjoyed the planning. He did not enjoy the thought of tearing apart the Kingair Pack he tried not to think of that. He simply felt relief at the thought of Woolsey soon to be dead if all went well. The machinations themselves, the process and meticulous details, those were far too pleasant. It was like a delicate experiment that required the most sure and gentle touch.

Randolph didn’t like what that said about him.

\--

Biffy and Randolph booked passage on a ship headed to New York three nights later. What once took weeks of travel could be accomplished in mere days. It was not as fast as aetherplanes, to be sure, but one had to make certain sacrifices when one was immortal.

From New York (which Randolph tried not to stare at too much, he did have some self-respect), they took a train to Washington D.C. As Randolph watched towns and countryside go by, he missed the days when he could run faster as a wolf than the trains. But those days, like those of the British Empire, were gone.

As for the other passengers, he didn’t know if they received more dirty looks for their suspected status as werewolves or for their relatively mild intimacy as they sat side by side, hands just brushing.

It was nearing dawn when they arrived in DC. It was such a young city in a young country. A history of not even 200 years, and they had such grand ideals, ideals forged in blood.

That was the werewolf way as well.

\--

“Woosley!”

Lord Maccon’s shout reverberated through the castle. THat was the sound of a true Alpha. 

A true Alpha declaring challenge.

Randolph dared not let himself hope.

Vulkasin Woolsey did not reply with any words. He only let out a long, harsh howl. It went straight into Randolph’s bones. _Come,_ it said. _See me kill._

Randolph could only obey.

Woolsey and Maccon faced off, both huge, growling beasts. The rest of the Woolsey pack surrounded them in a wide circle. Regardless of state of dress, they began shifting. Randolph felt the need inside him, too. His bones cracked, his flesh ripped. It hurt, but it was a pain he was used to.

A pain that was better than the pain of Woolsey’s claws pinning him down. A pain that was better than seeing Alessandro’s half-eaten body. A pain Randolph embraced.

The pack circled restlessly as they watched Woolsey and Maccon launch themselves at each other. The air was full of snarls and howls, from both Alphas and pack. Blood flooded the air, until Randolph could sense nothing else. 

The fight sent the pack half mad. Randolph was lost in the rage and ferocity. He howled and paced and leaped with angry growls with the rest of the pack.

He could not say how long it lasted. He could not say how it ended. When it did, though, Lord Maccon stood over Woolsey with his jaws clamped around the throat of Woolsey. The body was limp. Lord Maccon looked wild. Randolph felt wild. He ran on instinct.

Leading the rest of the pack, he approached Maccon. He bent his head and exposed his neck with a small keen. CHanning followed, as did the rest of the pack. 

Maccon shook Woolsey once, dropped the body, and then howled. The pack joined in, hailing their new Alpha.

Woolsey gone. Alessandro avenged. Randolph free.

It was done.

\--

Randolph did not expect the thrill of it all. While Biffy and the advisor (unofficial though he was) met, Randolph took to walking around the Washington Monument. Lights lit it up in the dark, and there were very few people out. America still primarily kept daylight hours.

This was Randolph’s mission.

He sat on a bench when he spotted his contact. The ghost floated behind him. She was dressed in a bathrobe. Scandalous once upon a time, but hardly an apparent threat now.

She greeted him with a grumble, and business was taken care of quickly and efficiently. Russia, Cuba. This was international intrigue beyond what Randolph had ever dealt in. And it thrilled him.

He met with Biffy again once both their business was concluded. “We could spare a few more nights here,” Randolph suggested, twisting his fingers in Biffy’s hair.

Biffy, Alpha though he was, seemed happy to acquiesce to such suggestions. He was not, however, without some ideas of his own.

He turned on the radio in their hotel room. America did not have the same broadcast restrictions, and that infernal music called rock came on.

It only took Biffy holding out his hand before Randolph joined him. They spun and laughed until they fell on the bed. They kissed and groped and Randolph bit right where Biffy moaned and yelped at once.

As they lay in bed, sweaty and sated, Randolph kissed Biffy languidly.

When they broke apart, Biffy said, “So have I lost you to Lord Crow’s employ?”

Randolph raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think such a thing?”

Biffy snorted. “Half a century in close quarters, you aren’t that good at hiding your emotions.”

Randolph buried his head in Biffy’s neck and bit harder than he needed to. Biffy retaliated by slapping his shoulder.

Randolph did not have an answer for Biffy. The thrill was undeniable; that he was so successful at it made him sick.

Once for revenge, for salvation was one thing. This was another.

“If you wish me to,” he said at last.

Biffy pushed Randolph off him. “I do not want you to, I want to keep you next to me at all times, but that is selfish.”

His fierceness took Randolph aback.

“I love you, Randolph Lyall. My dearest Beta.”

“I should hope I am the only one,” Randolph said, but he could not stop the grin from spreading over his face.

They kissed again.

Randolph did not know if he deserved this happiness. However, he would never forsake it for anything in the world.


End file.
